Reaching Through, Reaching For
by Hekateras
Summary: Reading zoo exhibit plaques has never been so important.


"Careful, sir, don't want to risk pushing the glass in," a young voice said, and Aziraphale nodded absently to himself. He took a hesitant step backward, but his eyes didn't waver from the glass exhibit and its sole occupant.

The serpent inside was unlike any other in the world. He was, as best as the experts could tell, closely related to the Asian reticulated python, a non-venomous constrictor with more weight than malice. His long and powerful body glistened with fine scales, mottled patterns of black, green and pale red. His eyes were the brightest gold, and his pupils like slits.

Aziraphale watched him for a while.

Soon after, there were people bustling past him, and a sudden unified direction in the crowd's flow, but he paid them no heed.

"Sir? Sir, we're closing. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the same young voice said, and a hand touched his shoulder.

"I intend to stay a while longer," Aziraphale said softly, his eyes not leaving the creature behind the glass.

"Um, I'm afraid that's not an option. Rules are rules. Closing time's for everyone-"

Aziraphale looked at him - young boy, messy brown hair, likely an intern. The boy looked back, straight into his eyes.

A moment passed, then another.

The boy shuddered.

"...Okay," he said in a dazed voice, his eyes unfocusing.

He turned and walked slowly out of the room.

Aziraphale watched him leave.

Then he took a deep breath and pressed his hand to the glass. The glass vanished.

Months ago, his mouth would have quirked in a smile at this, but he'd long passed the point of finding humour in literary references.

He looked at the serpent again, nothing but air between them now. The serpent looked back with disinterest, not bothering to rouse from his leisurely coiled sprawl across the thick branches. His golden eyes were empty.

"Good afternoon, my dear," Aziraphale said softly. He leaned carefully against the edge of the exhibit, half-sitting on top of it and shifting closer. "The, er, the African violets wilted, I'm afraid. I thought you might like to know that. On the bright side, the two begonias with the reddish leaves are flourishing quite nicely. I may even have to procure new pots for them soon... truth be told, I'll likely make a mess of it somehow," he sighed, glancing again at the snake, who regarded him with detached interest.

He leaned closer. "What else, what else... Ah, yes. Do you remember the little pig-tailed girl who blundered in that one time, during Halloween? it was, I believe, ten years ago, and you were... like this..." he swallowed painfully, "and you gave her quite a fright. At any rate, she passed by the other day - I recognised her because of the eyes, you see, heterochromia like that is difficult to miss - anyway, I don't think she strictly knows she's been there before. She was more keen on wandering around than buying anything, so I don't mind that much - I think she enjoys it because it feels familiar. It's just not often we rediscover someone like that again. Quite a lovely young girl by now, you know. I talked to her, she's a Major in comparative religion - of all the useless subjects to choose. But she's a nice enough girl."

He took a deep breath again, not quite daring to look at the serpent, who he had a feeling was starting to doze off. "I invested in a private storage space for the Bentley," he said in a low voice. "I'm not quite certain if it's time to take it for maintenance yet - there doesn't _seem_ to be anything wrong with, and it's not like you have been... using it..."

Aziraphale trailed off, strangely out of breath. He turned to look at the serpent again, who was rubbing lazily against a stretch of rough bark.

Aziraphale reached out to touch him, gently running a hand along the cool, slippery scales. The python slowly swivelled around to flick his tongue at Aziraphale's wrist. Then his body came snaking upward, reaching for an overhanging branch and draping over it.

Aziraphale watched his motions, fingers rubbing over his wrist, where could still feel the touch.

"My probation period is nearly over," he said eventually. "Just another twenty-five months. I'll be able to take you home, then. Keep you in the shop, not this awful noisy place... I'm sure it will all come back to you then. You could scare the customers," he added with a faint smile.

His heart seized as he watched the python crawl slowly over the branch, coiling himself around it in powerful, sinuous curves.

It never failed to remind him of Eden. He'd reached a hand toward the branches - unspeakably ill-advised, of course, when faced with the Enemy, but he'd had the most ridiculous notion that a demon couldn't be a threat to him in a body without limbs, and anyway, it had worked out well enough - he'd reached his hand up, and the Serpent had come reaching back, tongue tasting the air and coils looping curiously around his wrist.

"Crowley, my dear..." Aziraphale swallowed, but forced himself to continue. "If you can understand me, please.. bob your head, dear boy, or make some shape with your coils, or something equally conspicuous... _do something_, dammit..."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Crowley was _already_ damned. Aziraphale had never found out if it was Hell's particularly creative idea of a punishment, or if the dear boy really _had_ forgotten how to change back one day, after taking the transformation too far, and losing too much. The more time passed, the less it seemed to matter.

Aziraphale looked at the serpent, and waited. Every time, he never failed to hope.

The serpent coiled himself tighter around its branch, not even looking at him. He may as well not have heard it at all...

Aziraphale froze, breath stuttering. He couldn't believe himself, to have been such a fool. He was hardly the most well-versed in the study of the Lord's creatures - dolphins and gorillas and nests and all - but even _he_ knew snakes were possessed of little to no sense of hearing. It had simply... never come up, when Crowley had been as he'd been _before_, unburdened by traditional limitations.

Not daring to breathe, Aziraphale reached for the branch the serpent was on and rapped on it, repeating his request in Morse.

He waited. He did not blink, and he did not breathe, and the only muscle that moved was his heart, rapid and heavy and painful.

It took him a while to acknowledge that nothing was happening.

Aziraphale choked on a sob, but quickly collected himself. He pulled a crumpled handkerchief out of a pocket - tartan, Crowley had always mocked him for it - and dabbed haphazardly at his face.

"I need to be going," he said quietly, his voice off-key and far too loud in the empty room. "It wouldn't do to let Gabriel get suspicious."

He looked once more at the serpent, who'd coiled into a knot and was fast asleep.

"Goodbye, Crowley. I'll do my best to stop by next week," Aziraphale said, and walked out of the room.

He might have looked back, to see if the serpent had reacted to his departure. He would have been disappointed.

.

.

.

Aziraphale had felt confident that he could stretch the rules for a bit. Angels, after all, are creatures of Will, and their beliefs can shape mountains.

But desire is not the same thing as belief.

Pythons have a life expectancy of twenty to thirty years.

Aziraphale discovered this early one morning. It had been a warm summer night, and he'd dozed off in the wicker chair on the cottage porch, watching the ocean.

It had been a warm summer night, but the coils draped around him were very cold indeed.


End file.
